Convergence Creations
by Gracie Holmes
Summary: The Convergence Roleplay Forum Creation Week 2017. A different prompted one-shot a day for seven days featuring my characters and their loved ones. Mostly character studies.
1. Day 1: Sherlock's Beginning

**Day 1 - Monday 10th July**

 _Beginnings_ \- _It's time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings._

"Very well. I believe I am ready. This is and will be, the hardest thing I will ever do in my life. Success is not guaranteed. Failure would be devastating. Lives rest on my shoulders and I will not disappoint. My mind rebels at stagnation. So I will take this problem, this intricate analysis, and I will be in my element. This is the start of something new, and the mental exaltation is everything I've been craving. Accidental and unexpected as it is. To a great mind, nothing is little, which...I suppose, is good news for you."

Sherlock Holmes had that look in his eye. The one of solving a new puzzle. The one of intense focus and intellectual prowess. A man with superhuman abilities. The consulting detective that could bring murderers to justice and take them away himself, if needed. A master in his element.

Give or take.

For he sat in his chair, his Baker Street chair, with a baby in his lap. No ordinary baby it was, this baby was _his_.

William Sterling Romanov-Holmes lay on his back with his head near Sherlock's knees and his butt closer to Sherlock's body. His little legs were up in the air. He'd just learned he could grab his feet and found that all quite entertaining.

It was so new. Sherlock had hardly any experience caring for a baby one-on-one. Even with Zariah, either Naomi or Mycroft or Natasha or Molly had always been with him. Right now he was alone. With Sterling. Natasha would be back soon, she'd come in from the cold any moment now and snap a picture or five and they'd laugh about it. He could always text her if he needed her too. Not a problem. But he was _Sherlock Holmes_ , he was not going to let a baby defeat him.

Peering up at him, Sterling's tiny brows pinched in a concentrated frown. His bright green eyes were all-seeing, constantly seeking new and exciting things out. Naturally. As a growing baby, there was so much to take in. Right on schedule. He wiggled again, bouncing in place, all while learning to control his growing body.

Sherlock studied him. Because that's what this was. A new puzzle, a new mystery to solve, a singular experiment. A beginning of something good, and hopefully someone who would not grow to hate him like so many people did.

He cleared his throat. "Sterling," he started, very professionally helping Sterling to grasp his tiny socked feet. "You're getting it, just hold your toes like so. You'll be running around in circles before we know it." Sterling made a blubbery noise from his little lips. "And talking more articulately than gurgles. I do hope so, having an intelligent conversation with you is one of my long-term goals. Balance of probability suggests you'll be able to keep up."

Sterling's brow's settled into that concentrated frown again. This time Sherlock frowned too, matching the expression on the baby's face. Unintentionally.

At that, and after a moment's hesitation as he figured it out, Sterling giggled. It was a rare sound. Beautiful and new. Sherlock couldn't help but smile like a boy on Christmas morning. "You'll have to forgive me, child, this is new. Quite new for me. I don't want to disappoint you, or mess you up, or let you fall into chaos as I did. But I am going to try my best for you. That means no drugs. A new beginning for me too. Because I don't need to get high, I have the real thing." He jiggled Sterling's foot, prompting another giggle. Apparently that stimuli created this reaction. Humorous. Sherlock tickled his foot a bit longer until the wiggling almost pushed him out of Sherlock's lap and both of them were laughing.

Sherlock scooped the boy up to cradle him in his arms. And in the solitude of their home, he pressed a gentle kiss to the pink cheek of the infant. "You're an incredible mystery. I'm keeping you. _Mine._ "


	2. Day 2: John Watson's Loss

**Day 2 - Tuesday 11th July**

 _Loss_ \- _I keep myself busy with things to do, but every time I pause, I still think of you._

Sweat dripped down John's brow in the wave of a rare but gripping panic attack, his chest heaved, his eyes opened wide, and his fists clenched so hard there would be fingernail divots in his skin. Intense, unexpected, unwanted. PTSD was a nasty thing, rearing its ugly head when one least wanted it. He was a doctor who'd never come home from the war, the war had also never left him. The sound of the gun firing in the aquarium's shark exhibit haunted him like an insistent ghost. The bullet in slow motion moved towards his best friend, only to steal his wife instead.

Mary wasn't really gone. Not to him at least, not yet. John Watson woke up every morning with her right there. Her hand over his, her lips on his scruffy cheek as they brought in the new day together, her scent on the pillow. Like a breathing ghost, she was with him always. They lived and loved together. Married, promised, parents raising an enthusiastic and energetic daughter together.

But for all intents and purposes, in his mind, John Watson was already a widower. He could never forget it. That future loomed ahead of him like an avalanche one was helpless to do anything but accept. He'd watched _it_ happen on the television, he'd come face to face with his worst nightmare. It was sharp and potent. To be unable to help her, to put his fingers to her chest and know she had only minutes as the blood seeped out of her aorta onto her shirt. To have someone so dear stolen so quickly, so senselessly, and after he'd done something _so_ incredibly stupid.

The guilt would nearly destroy him. It would nearly destroy Sherlock too.

In this world, John had good and bad days. The good days he'd joke and laugh with his wife and daughter. He would dance Mary around the room. There'd be dinner and tickling, walks outside, and teasing Sherlock, joking with Natasha and Mary about the weird things Sherlock did. They would explore or just _be_ together.

But the bad days found him pouring scotch into a glass and staring out the window in complete silence.

 _She was still here._ He just had to remember that. And in this world, they could both atone for their pasts. They weren't bad or good people, they were just human. Humans who made mistakes and acted according to somewhat dubious morals, but tried to do better.

John Hamish Watson was the doctor who'd gone to war. He lost friends and people he barely knew. He watched the lives of young men and women, from many countries and backgrounds, end. John had an intimate relationship with Death and Loss. Moving back to London and moving into 221B had pulled him back from the brink, it had given his life back. Who knew running around London chasing dangerous criminals would be so therapeutic? Certainly not his therapist. Life had been good. Minus the failed relationships.

And Sherlock, bloody prick that he was, had to fake his death and leave John mourning a loss all over again.

It was Mary Morstan who helped him pick up the pieces that time. She completely turned his life around. John remembered the first time he saw her. It had been a passing glance that had turned into an outright stare. And then an awkward throat-clearing when he'd been caught. He remembered thinking Sherlock would have rolled his eyes and disappeared to steal something from the clinic for his home lab. The memory lingered in his mind.

Beauty was too small a word for her. She was funny, sassy, and underneath it all as forged and strong as steel, yet as soft as a fresh rose. John had been drawn to _everything_ about her. Because she, unlike everyone else, stayed for him.

At least until she'd leapt in front of a bullet to save the fucking show off named Sherlock Holmes.

John had to learn to accept it for what it was, even slow progress was still progress. What she'd done, she had done for him and for Sherlock. It was a sacrifice neither of them knew how to bear.

Their time in the Convergence was just a waiting game. Soon enough they'd go back home, either for good or temporarily, and they'd live through all of it. Rosie, the Six Thatchers, Amo, Norbury. Mary would be gone. And there wasn't a damn thing John could do about it, except text a woman who didn't even really exist and then watch his wife die.

The problems of her future were his privilege. Or they had been, until she hadn't a future anymore. He hadn't kept his vow either.

John would sink into the soft sofa, a glass of scotch in his hand, fingers twitching on his knees, and let the day pass. Later, when he had the energy, he'd remind his beautiful wife how much he loved her and how much they needed each other. How much he loved the family they made together, both in Kendra and in Rosie, and just how much he needed her.

But even so, he was twenty-four hours closer to losing Mary forever.

The hollow pain lingered.


	3. Day 3: Zariah's Alternate Wings

**Day 3 - Wednesday 12th July - 1 of 3**

 _Alternatives_ \- _In an indefinite multiverse, there is no such thing as fiction._

 **Wings**

 _Alternate Universe, (non-SPN) Soulmate Angel AU (ideas are taken from Angelology by Danielle Trussoni, and Angie(Best Damn Avocado)'s Angel AU fic 'Anatomy of a Human Heart'. _

* * *

When Zariah came into being, the Angels hadn't had a birth of their own in four thousand years. A plague had sterilized them, bringing what once was a magnificent community to a warring and struggling nation. The angels were messengers and warriors, tasked with keeping the balance between the spiritual realms and earth's inhabitants. It was a constant challenge.

As much as he was able, Mycroft led from behind the scenes. His huge wings were impeccable golden, brandishing bright metallic gold into the deeper ancient hues of his under-feathers. An angel's wings were signs of strength and power. And he wore his proudly. His soulmate, Naomi, had wings of the deepest grey. Like the sky during a thunderstorm, the color faded from dark to light over her soft feathers. She worked with him, handling secret intelligence with grace and skill.

They were one of very few bonded soulmate pairs left among the host. Most flitted from lover to lover to human if they were so inclined to that type of behavior. However so many had lost their soulmate partner in wars and struggled to continue through the world alone. Mycroft and Naomi were meant to be, working as two parts of a whole, never parting in one hundred thousand years. They did not take their survival for granted.

Was it any wonder it was they who bore the first unexpected fledgling after the Plague?

Zariah was a beautiful creation, named after the sunrise. Her angelic form would be too young to take a human form for at least a century. But they wouldn't need it. As a young angel, her face shown with all the glory of the galaxies. They were completely in love.

She was _almost_ perfect.

But her wings. Something had gone wrong. Zariah's new wings were nearly transparent and _so_ frail. A fledgling's wings were supposed to be small, Mycroft had distinct memories of Sherlock's upon his creation. They'd been little, but pitch black never the less. Zariah's weren't supposed to be transparent.

Naomi was more than concerned. Worried that this small miracle among angels would simply be stunted in comparison. She wouldn't survive for long on her own if that were the case. The only thing now was to watch her grow, monitor her progress.

Her wings were too small, too clear, and couldn't even lift her up from the floor. She drew scrutiny, threats, and general disgust from those angels of the high tradition. What a disappointment the next generation was shaping up to be. Where would their society grow to now?

Despite the trials against her, Zariah grew up with a devoted and supporting family. She grew up completely loved and completely spoiled. Naomi and Mycroft spent nearly all of that first century in Heaven, working as they always had, raising the beautiful creature together.

As Zariah's hundredth birthday, what would be her coming of age, approached, she grew severely ill. Naomi was a mess, struggling with seeing their extraordinary creature in so much pain. In their Heavenly home, with its many colors and ethereal night sky, Naomi and Mycroft stood helpless as Zariah neared death.

Naomi sniffed back another round of tears, leaning in as Mycroft pulled her into his arms. Silver and gold wings wrapped around each other, the feathers intwining with intimate familiarity. "She's so small, fragile, I can't…"

"Shh, I know, love," Mycroft held her essence close, his eyes peeled on the youngest angel's small form. Her clear wings were tucked behind her tightly. "There has to be something else we're missing."

"Mummy?" Zariah's angelic and inherited blue eyes opened. "I don't…feel well…"

Naomi and Mycroft didn't get a chance to respond before it happened. Zariah was suddenly consumed in a blinding divine light. Bursting from her body to every corner of their home.

What came out of that light was something more, something unexpected. As the light died, Zariah was left standing there. Smiling. Strong. Beautiful. Renewed. Zariah's wings stretched out behind her, fully-grown and almost as large as her father's. The feathers were no longer transparent but shone with the indescribable iridescent color of a hundred thousand opals. The light caught each color and sent it reflecting over the walls like a prism. She flexed the wings, stretching them out beside her. "I'm feeling much better now," she decided.

Moments later Naomi and Mycroft surrounded her in a fierce hug, wings wrapped around them like a sanctuary of beautiful feathers. Tears were shed, not of sorrow or fear, but rather an uncontainable joy. Naomi's hands ran down those new feathers. Strong and soft as water. The beauty had waited too long to make itself known, but it was worth the wait.

They flew together, dancing through stars, Zariah's wings carrying her as they'd never done before. And it was impossible to miss the joy that radiated off of her. With each beat of a thousand colors, her unique opal wings took her across the universe. She had an eternity to explore it.


	4. Day 3: Naomi's Alternate Encounter

**Day 3 - Wednesday 12th July**

 _Alternatives_ \- _In an indefinite multiverse, there is no such thing as fiction._

 **Russian Angels**

A winter storm had covered western Russia in early December 1993, unmatched by any from that year. The temperature was well below averages in the mountainous region a little training facility was located.

Natalia Romanova, as well as twenty other girls ranging from ages seven to twelve, had been thrown into the mountains with only enough supplies for a few of them to survive. It was a test, weeding out the strong from the weak.

Natalia was good, _very_ good, and had a determination to survive that surpassed many of her peers. But that wasn't always enough when a storm came out of nowhere. The winds howled and the blizzard made it next to impossible to tell which way was up. These Russian storms could last for days.

She'd collected the supplies and hunkered down in a small snow cave to wait it out. There was nothing to do except sit, wrapped in a parka. One day passed. Her thoughts drifted as they always did to days she couldn't remember. Of the smell of roses. She could almost hear violin music in the wind. But as the hours passed, her supplies ran low, her fire would not stay lit for lack of fuel, and her body temperature started dropping.

As the world darkened on the second day, the storm was not letting up. It was then her quick green eyes caught something moving. She pulled out the little gun she'd broken Olga's neck for and without hesitation shot the tall human figure.

The bullet didn't do anything to slow the person's journey, and little Natalia scrambled back against the cave wall, gun pointed forward. Ready. Waiting.

"I'm afraid those are no good for killing me, my dear." The snow covered auburn haired woman spoke in perfect Russian.

"Who are you?"

Naomi, Angel of the Lord actually smiled as she dusted the snow off of her tattered clothes. She'd been injured, her wings were in shreds and it hurt like holy fire deep into her grace. She was vulnerable, in mind and body. It made her more human, and she'd sought out shelter while she waited for her trusted followers to find her. The little redhead Russian girl was a bit of a surprise, but Naomi had no intention of hurting her. Actually, it looks like they'd be able to save each other.

Naomi loosened her auburn hair from her bun, shaking out the wetness. "My name is _Наоми_. I'm an angel."

"I'm _Наталия_. I'm just a girl," Natalia answered back. At this point, she'd lowered the gun again, but kept wary eyes on the stranger.

Naomi closed the distance and knelt before her to be at eye level with the child. She showed respect and understanding because there was almost a pull to this beautiful little girl. Naomi couldn't quite understand it. She'd killed children like her before. But not today, there was no need. Naomi had thousands of years of understanding loneliness. She'd taken away that feeling from other angels herself. "I'm not going to hurt you, Natalia. But I have someone coming for me who wants to hurt me. I promise I'll keep you safe. We can wait out the storm together."

Natalia hadn't slept more than a couple hours in the last two days. She was tired, cold, and hurting. Not to mention wary of the woman. But she didn't want to die and that survival instinct told her it was better to share body heat. Anyone would have hurt her already if that was the goal. Natalia nodded solemnly. "I've got people trying to kill me too."

"We are in the same boat then, as they say."

This woman, Naomi, reminded her of the images she'd created in her head to represent her mother. The dark auburn hair, the blue eyes, sad smile, even her open hands. And with that came both a longing ache and a need to be close to her. Not to mention the look that she gave her was softer and unlike anything her trainers did. She sniffed. "I'm cold."

"I am too." Naomi moved to sit just out of arm's reach, her back pressed up against the cave's wall.

"Angels get cold?"

"They do when they've been hurt as I have. But I think I can keep us warm."

Natalia eyed her, but the call of warmth and this woman who looked like her mother ruled over the distrust she'd been trained to feel. She scooted on the ground and without asking, climbed right into Naomi's lap. She wrapped little arms around her and tucked herself close.

If the girl had been looking at her, Naomi's expression would have been completely startled. Her experience with children historically was killing them. Not functioning as their pillow. But needs must. Naomi adjusted her a bit and wrapped her arms around the red haired girl. "Don't worry, I've got you."

Natalia fell asleep in her arms while the storm raged around them. The girl slept soundly, as if she hadn't slept like that in days, weeks even. Naomi gently searched through her memories, watching every kill and every day of training play before her eyes.

Maybe the angel should have ben surprised or sorrowed at the child's life, the abuse she'd suffered and the pain she caused already. But Naomi only felt a kinship. This beautiful little girl was part of a system. She had a job, training was hard. She'd killed people. She didn't exactly like it, but it was the only life she'd known. She couldn't escape.

It seemed so familiar. Naomi felt something she hadn't felt in centuries…..kinship, a love.

"I'll take you away from this, dear heart," Naomi promised. "We'll bring you somewhere safe. Because unlike me, and the other angels, I think you have a choice in what you do with your life."

Her fingers carded through Natalia's red hair. She let the simple selfless motion calm her own soul. The break of the storm would steal their peace away eventually.


	5. Day 3: Sherlock's Alternate Holiday

**Day 3 - Wednesday 12th July**

 _Alternatives_ \- _In an indefinite multiverse, there is no such thing as fiction._

 **Leningrad, Soviet Union**

William Sherlock Scott Holmes, at seven and a half years old, had traveled more than most boys his age. His parents enjoyed it, and they had the money to spend. So when they were to spend a summer week in Leningrad, Russia, he was not surprised at all. Mycroft would be there, and there were things to see. Hopefully, he wouldn't be bored.

They spent the first day sightseeing. Mycroft wasn't too thrilled to be out and about, and there was the ever-present book tucked into his inside coat pocket. But Sherlock could tell his elder brother was hovering over him, expected in that country at that time. Despite the tourism that had blossomed in Soviet Russia's 1980s. It might have been something else too. Sherlock couldn't remember.

The second day the Holmes family made the effort to visit family friends who lived in the city. Violet had met the charming couple at a distinguished scientist conference in Paris years before Sherlock had been born, and they touched base again whenever they were going to be in the same city. So there they were. Mr Holmes knocked soundly on the door.

Sherlock anxiously fluffed at his dark curls, glancing over the tall figure of the man who answered it. Konstantin Romanov greeted them enthusiastically in Russian, repeating it again in English. "Mr and Mrs Holmes, how lovely to see you again, and your boys! Come in, come in! We've got tea and biscuits at the ready. Maria is just busy with the baby."

Sherlock tuned out the conversation as his eyes swept over the beautiful interior of the house. It wasn't huge, but it was noticeable that the family had at least some wealth. He heard the soft cries of a baby even before they approached the gathering room.

There were portraits on the walls, paintings of springtime and dancers, an elegantly designed samovar, the whole room smelled of roses. Once they made it through the hall to the gathering room, his eyes zeroed in on a redheaded woman holding a baby. Maria Romanova's face was angular, but she had bright kind eyes and a full mouth. Sherlock pulled to a stop and tucked himself next to Mycroft, bumping his shoulder against his elder brother's arm. Suddenly shy.

"Violet! Look at you." The woman smiled her greeting at them, it was soft and understanding. "How your boys have grown, dear me. " She tutted on a bit about the last time she saw pictures of them, standing to greet Violet with a kiss on the cheek. "This is little Natalia, our first, of course. I wrote you about her."

"She's beautiful." Violet brought her hand to cup the baby's head, nothing but adoration on her face. Moments later, little Natalia had been passed off to Mrs Holmes and she cooed at the smiley baby. The four adults chatted as Natalia nodded back off to sleep. Mycroft pulled out his book again and dismissed himself to another couch. Sherlock busied himself with studying the decorations and trying to make deductions. Until…

"Would you like to hold her, Sherlock?" Violet rocked the baby in her arms, but smiled at her youngest son.

Sherlock felt apprehensive all at once and his expression was slightly startled. "Um…I don't know."

"I'll take her right back if you want, there's no need to be nervous. Let's sit you down. You almost share a birthday, after all, just a couple weeks apart."

Sherlock did as instructed, glancing once at Mycroft before he set his mind on the fact that he was going to hold a baby for the first time in his life. When his mother laid the six-month-old in his arms he stiffened unconsciously.

Natalia was awake now, her big green eyes were riveted to his face. Just as his eyes were on her. Neither made a sound. Neither moved. And they stayed that way for the better part of a minute before he spoke again.

"I like her." Sherlock declared. "Even if she is kind of boring."

Maria laughed. "She won't be boring forever, dear one. She'll start talking here soon and learning to walk. And that's only the beginning. Someday, she's going to be big, just like you."

"Seems logical. Little things grow up. Never know how they might turn out." Sherlock concluded. Natalia's little hand reached for his face and he crinkled his nose at it. But he was so very curious. He shifted so he could offer her his hand too. The baby's tiny fingers wrapped around his index finger, holding on in what he supposed was a weak grip. Though he could forgive her for that. She was only six months old.


	6. Day 4: Memories of Zariah and Naomi

**Day 4 - Thursday 13th July**

 _Memories_ \- _Remembering the past gives power to the present._

Twisting turning, never quite in perfect order, fuzzy and then perfectly clear. Sometimes like jungle vines, or spider webs, or swirls of colored energy, or even perfectly ordered pigeonholes. Or whatever other metaphor could be pulled out to describe the mind of a sentient being, Zariah would never find one that fit completely. Everyone was different. Memories and minds were complicated creations. Anyone who said anything different had no idea what they were talking about.

Zariah struggled more often than not, having the gifts she had. When one could listen in to thoughts from two-hundred plus people in an enclosed space, not to mention _feel_ the differences in the creatures that lived there, it wore her out. Emotionally, mentally, and physically.

Her parents knew and respected that as much as possible.

Naomi sat in the study during a lazy afternoon. A blank canvas sat on an easel and her paints were out in their proper order. Though at the moment, she paged through some of the photo albums of Sterling's early days, with every intention of finding just the right moment to capture in a painting.

She peeked up when she felt Zariah nearby. The girl slipped into the study and promptly made herself comfortable in the tiny space in between Naomi and the chair's armrest. A cuddler, always. Naomi laughed quietly, setting the book aside and wrapping her arm around her adult daughter. "Hello, _rortorzul."_ Her Enochian endearment was simply the meaning of Zariah's name. _Sunrise._ "Is there something I can help you with?"

Zariah heaved a quiet sigh and tucked herself closer, all legs and arms folded up like a cat. She closed her eyes and rested her head on Naomi's shoulder. "My head is too busy with memories."

Naomi's brow pinched. "What are you thinking about?"

"Everything."

"You're a very imaginative and intelligent young lady, but not even you can think about everything at once," Naomi teased gently.

Zariah sighed in good-nature. "Perhaps that was an overestimation. My thoughts have been swarmed today, everyone's thinking, I had to get away from it. Can't even be in the same room as Dad. His head's always busy and it's too loud."

"A trait I admire in him," Naomi said, rubbing her hand over Zariah's arm. "But understandably difficult if you're feeling mentally vulnerable."

"How do you do it? Deal with millions of years of memories, not to mention keep track of everything here, and everything in Heaven."

Naomi peeked down at her, smiling a bit. "I was created for it, and when I'm made human, most of it slips into the recesses of my mind to be forgotten unless I need it. But I think I understand what you're asking." She paused, shifting a bit so she could look at Zariah's bright blue eyes a bit easier. "You're overwhelmed. Memories from other people, from yourself, from your loved ones, they all come together in your head. I've been teaching you to control your abilities since they manifested, but things aren't always going to be perfect. You're going to feel overwhelmed sometimes, you're going to feel hurt or sorrowed, and you'll lose a bit of control. We just need to work on how you compartmentalize it."

Zariah sniffed. "Sometimes I wish I wasn't psychic, I wish that I was normal."

"Even if you were not psychic, my love, you would never be 'normal', you're too unique. Special. Not just because of your abilities."

That prompted a smile, and Zariah continued. "You know what I mean, Mum. I know it's beneficial, and it's saved my life more than once, but it's _so_ hard sometimes. I feel so heavy."

Naomi smiled back. "Yes, of course, I just had to ensure you knew." She paused. "Even so, I understand."

Zariah tipped her head back to curl up against Naomi's side. "It'll be fine."

" _It is both a blessing  
And a curse  
To feel everything  
So very deeply._"

Naomi quoted the saying as she smoothed fingers through Zariah's long dark hair. "It's all over the internet. I looked it up on my mobile phone," Naomi said with a sheepish smile when all Zariah did was blink up at her. "It seemed applicable. Even more so, in your case, considering your empathic gifts."

Zariah giggled quietly. "Thanks, Mum."

"Always, _rortorzul."_

Naomi pressed a kiss to her forehead and they settled in with no intention of moving away from each other. Naomi had her own memories she struggled with, memories that involved killing children and breaking families apart. Those memories hadn't disappeared, but they'd been overshadowed by one much more vivid and beautiful. Of an unexpected baby who'd grown into an extraordinary young woman who felt too much and wanted to see more. Naomi was beyond blessed.


	7. Day 5: Sherlock's Pain

**Day 5 - Friday 14th July**

 _Pain_ \- _Find a place inside where there's joy, and the joy will burn out the pain._

* * *

 _Which one's pain?_

Pain was an old friend of Sherlock Holmes. It was the only constant in his life. Not even breathing was always a for sure thing.

But pain was a constant he had been running away from for as long as he could remember.

Pain first put hands on him decades ago as a child. When he had receded so much into himself after his little sister had killed his best friend, that he completely forgot about it. Sherlock didn't remember the pain then. He didn't remember Eurus asking what pain was like. He wouldn't have had an answer for her anyways. Not back then. He had hurt so much there was no understanding it.

There'd been more pain growing up. Bullies in school, peers, teachers, parents. No one quite understood the clever and observant boy, who tried showing off to get people to like him. It nearly always backfired. Rejection was painful.

Into his late teens there'd been a reprieve from the pain of an over active mind, in the form of recreational substances. The pain he caused his older brother, well, that was just collateral damage. That would be what he told himself anyways. But even that hadn't taken his mental pain away completely. When he was shaking on a dirty mattress in a damp doss house, the disappointed and pained expression on Mycroft's face stuck in his mind more than he'd ever expected.

Physical pain. The break of bones, the bend of tendons, the crushing of windpipes, the stealing of breath, the thud of a hard object against his flesh, the rush of toxic substances. Sherlock was familiar with all of those too. He'd been tortured and killed, mangled, brought to the point of near-death, only to claw his way back to life again. He had scars to prove it.

Pain, any type of pain, mental, emotional, and physical, hindered his work. He'd tried to put it away so he could be the best, to win the game. And to spare other people pain. Because Sherlock knew intimately what it could do to people.

 _Control! Control! Control. You. You never felt pain, did you? Why did you never feel pain?_

 _You always feel it, Sherlock. But you don't have to fear it! Pain. Heartbreak. Loss. Death. It's all good. It's all good._

But it isn't all good. It would never be. Sherlock couldn't escape the pain. Escaping pain, cutting himself off completely meant he would be no better than Moriarty, a psychopath who would eventually get bored.

Sherlock was too human for that. The most human, the wisest and best man some ever knew.

 _Which one's pain?_

Pain was indescribable imbalance. Too many things to put into words on a page. Pain was both being too hot and too cold. Pain was feeling too much and nothing at all. It was overstimulation, and being utterly alone for too long. It brought forth and came out of loneliness, anxiety, depression, crushing boredom, failure.

And then…

Purpose, success, victory, friendship, love, family, understanding. That and more chased away the pain. It made whatever pain he went through worth it. He found a best friend he would die for, and his best friend's wife he would kill for. He found a lover he could admit his pain to. He created a son he would willingly take heaps of pain and torture for. He brought together, completely unintentionally, family and friends to call his own. They were the joy that chased away the pain, but not only that, they were the reason he accepted the pain of being himself.

Splayed on the sofa, Sherlock was stuck in his head, turning his thoughts over and over and over again, spinning his ever busy mind so fast he didn't even hear the front door open. Three young voices were chatting back and forth as the next generation of Holmes and Watson came in from the evening exploration.

"Wait Sterling, Kendra…" Zariah peeked at Sherlock, already completely pre-occupied with how busy his thoughts were, and carefully made her way over. She leaned over and pressed a kiss to the middle of his forehead. Gentle and reassuring. "I love you, Uncle Sherlock."

Sherlock was taken aback, having not noticed them come in, and blinked several times. But he softened and almost smiled. "Who knows why, but I'll take it."


	8. Day 6: Naomi Found

**Day 6 - Saturday 15th July**

 _Found - Mistakes are the portals of discovery._

Naomi had made more mistakes than anyone knew. She had made more mistakes than she wanted to remember, most of the time. The angels' memories had been cleansed of anything that would make them sympathetic and less of the warrior messengers they were meant to be. The humans on earth, they were only fodder, meant to be culled when the archangels gave the order. Sodom and Gomorrah, wiping out the Egyptian firstborns, the Battle of Jericho, the 185,000 Assyrians, plagues, famines, war…

" _When did we forget that? Forget that…forget that…"_ The question echoed in her mind during the first weeks of her stay in this world she'd come to call home. God's Creation needed protecting. And she had not protected anyone but Heaven and its secrets. Some help that had been. Heaven was in ruins. The angels had fallen. Metatron had stabbed a drill into the back of Naomi's head.

Naomi had been lost. She had been a lost angel for centuries and hadn't even realized it. But now that she had it was far too late to do anything. She could only forge a new path. Find a purpose. Pay her penitence.

Even in her attempts to do that, she was still lost and alone. Rejected by fellow angels, terrorized by an overpowered demon, left to wander the empty earth and ponder her sins.

Until.

She approached Mr Mycroft Holmes to set up a business arrangement similar to the one she had with his brother. A sharing of information. Their first conversation had been professional, to the point, and hadn't lasted very long at all.

But in no time at all, it had turned into keeping each other company, an unspoken friendship. She'd said it the first time they'd met: it was rare to find intelligent and understanding company in this world. There were changes they went through, struggles, trials, in the early months of their friendship. Not to mention a surprise kiss. With no work to do and Sherlock to watch over, it brought them ever closer.

Two creatures who'd spent their lives in loneliness and isolation _found_ each other, reaching out and finding nothing but acceptance and trust and kinship.

 _Trust_. She'd never expected it. Not after what she did, not after how many humans she'd overseen the execution of. Children. She could still hear them crying. Even speaking those words to Castiel at the very end, she'd hardly thought he'd come back to them. She'd had a plan, she always did. Not that it mattered now.

All that mattered was the family she'd found and created. Her husband, her daughter, her human sisters and brother, her angel sister, her niece and nephew. It was her new mission. Her place to remedy her mistakes. A place of acceptance and understanding. A place to be found.

Naomi's voice echoed in her promises to her human husband. She held nothing back.

 _You have fallen in love with a destructive force of nature, my darling._

 _I am ruin. A hurricane that lays to waste everything in its path, a lightning bolt cracking into life, a wildfire burning out of control, a volcano spewing up suffocation. Unyielding as a tidal wave and deeper than the ocean it came from. Perilous. Dangerous. Deadly._

 _I am a star bursting out of delicate human skin, scorching, consuming, taking, extinguishing, exploding._

 _And you stand here with hands stretched out, eyes open, heart ready. What beauty and force could ever compare to the intricacies of your mind and the steadfastness of your soul?_

 _Nothing can._

 _There is only you._

 _To you, for you, I will be yours and give you sanctuary._

 _I will wrap my being around your steadfast, fierce, and delicate life, surround you with soft wings, as well as sharp claws._

 _For you found me when I was lost._


	9. Day 7: Holmes Unending

**Day 7 - Sunday 16th July**

 _Endings - Ends are not bad and many ends aren't really an ending; some things are never-ending._

* * *

The end of their current Convergence setting was obvious this time.

The home and landscape it had made for them had been beautiful. With ethereal forests and waterfalls, huge houses that vaguely echoed homes of distant past. And the _stars._ The stars had decorated the night sky like a diamond crown shining down over the people that still lived in this world. Nebulas stretched over the east to west. Years had gone by at this point, over a hundred years of this life, passing from one world to the next. The landscape changed. They remained. It was both a freedom and a prison. It was both future and stagnant life.

They had been there for so long now, it was hard to remember living anywhere else. Even as the world died around them.

The stars were disappearing out of the dark night sky that took up fifteen hours a day. Thousands had once danced across the firmament, and now there was only a few dozen left as the world plunged into darkness.

Naomi had taken Mycroft to the top of a mountain to watch the falling stars. Zariah was home safe with her cousins and aunts and uncles, playing some sort of game or something. Talking amongst each other like nothing was wrong.

Naomi had never anticipated she'd have years with them. She never though there'd be more than one or two, maybe three. But there they were. Each passing anniversary, Christmas, birthday, everything was a milestone that marked the path of their journey together. A long journey that was disappearing as quickly as the stars.

Maybe this was the very end. The end of all things. But it could just continue, as it always had.

She didn't find she was as distraught as she might have been decades ago, having come to terms with it all. She said she'd love him forever. Their forever had always been temporary, it was always meant to come to an end.

Naomi kept her hand in Mycroft's once they landed, but he turned her so he could hold her from behind. Her head tilted up and rested against his shoulder as she watched the lights of the near stars and the gases from the nebulas fade into the nothingness of space. Colors slowly disappeared into black.

They didn't speak, there wasn't really a need at this point. Their time together only made them stronger, and more like one being in two bodies. Soulmates, as they always had been. There were arguments, of course, it was hard to escape that sometimes, but cooperation and compromise led to them pressing on. Moving forward together. United.

He was spectacular. She never grew tired of his company. Or of the hidden depths of his mind and being. It was a mutual feeling. They were two galaxies, drawn together in a spiraling cosmic dance.

Mycroft swayed with her as the stars died around them, holding her close in a calm reassurance. Naomi couldn't help but smile softly. If this was the end of everything they had built together, the end of her life and the life of their daughter…her only regret was being unable to have more time. Everything else was well lived, well loved, and completely experienced.

If it wasn't the end, they'd just continue on in a never-ending story of love and family.

 _I love you forever._

* * *

Zariah had her one-hundredth birthday a few months ago, and they were nearing Sterling's within the next couple weeks. Kendra was still only ninety-nine and a half. And they'd been preparing to tease her for it as soon as they got to Sterling's birthday. Zariah knew. They all did, that they'd lived longer than many humans got to. She'd written books, Sterling had written symphonies, Kendra had read and listened to it all and gave her honest opinion naturally.

Zariah peeked out the window as another star disappeared from the galaxy above. Dimming their world. They'd made it this long. None of them had died. They had their ups and downs, as anyone who spent one hundred years together did, but they were family.

Her life may not have been exactly what she'd wanted. She hadn't gotten to save lives or solve complicated government problems. She hadn't had a family of her own or a career. She'd lost friends, lovers, and experienced heartbreak and pain. There had been times of being alone, living alone, growing up, moving back home. Ups and downs that would take hours to recite. But they'd seen so many worlds and done so many things. And they'd had each other. Their family, whole and uninterrupted, for one hundred years.

Unending.

Zariah turned away from the stars, and the distant feel of her parents among them, cuddling up next to Sterling with her head on his shoulder.

* * *

Sherlock once again had triumphed in a game of Cluedo. Or at least the version of rules that they played it with. He dropped his cards on the board with a cocky smirk and wrapped his arm around his wife. "Victory is mine."

"I kinda feel like kissing that smirk right off your face, _milaya,_ " Natasha said.

"I wouldn't say no," Sherlock quipped back.

"Oh get a room," John retorted, taking a sip of his scotch.

"Wouldn't be the first time, my love," Mary reminded her husband with a light laugh. "That's how you found out about them in the first place, right? Caught them snogging in Sherlock's chair."

John breathed a laugh. "God, yes! That was forever ago."

"Not really forever, only one hundred and two years," Sherlock corrected."

"Longer than most humans get to live," Zariah pipped up.

Sterling's expression mirrored his father's. "Average lifespan of a giant tortoise though."

"Congratulations then, Sterling, we've officially made it up there with the famous giant tortoises of the world, I'm so honored," Kendra quipped dryly. The room lapsed into quiet laughter.

"I'm glad we're back together, as a family, right now," Zariah said after a moment of silence. "For the world's end."

"We wouldn't be anywhere else," Molly promised with a smile.

"There isn't anywhere else to be," Khan deadpanned, prompting a rolled eye from Eurus across the couch.

"Why do we say that? The world's end. I don't think it's ending, it does just continue every time, doesn't it?" Sherlock mused, peeking out the large open window. His fingers slowed their smooth massage over Natasha's shoulder. "I don't think it ever will end. We are fictional, after all. Fiction never ends. Just look at me. Sherlock Holmes. The 19th-century detective turned into hundreds of different versions."

"I prefer yours the best." Natasha smiled up at him, soft and sure. "Endings aren't all bad. So long as there is a new beginning on the other side."

"If there isn't," Sherlock said, addressing her as well as his family around them, "we'll make one."

They continued. For another day, year, decade, century. No 'living happily ever after'. They just lived.


End file.
